


Itsy Bitsy Nightmare

by Listenerofshadows



Series: Tiny Virge Series [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Crying, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmare, Panic, deaging, part of a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Listenerofshadows/pseuds/Listenerofshadows
Summary: Anxiety isn’t a monster, he isn’t. He may not be as brave or as smart as the others, but he’s a good guy. He protects Thomas, telling him to watch out for shadow demons in his closet and to not touch hot ovens. That’s good…right?
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Series: Tiny Virge Series [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954588
Comments: 7
Kudos: 123





	Itsy Bitsy Nightmare

Anxiety feels safe. It’s a weird feeling for Anxiety as complacency isn’t something he often engages in. He is Anxiety–a big grown-up word that means worrying and fretting over possible dangers. His job is to make sure Thomas is safe. So rarely does he feel safe himself. Not when he has to stay alert for any bad things coming Thomas’ way. 

So as much as he feels safe, he also feels anxious by it. He doesn’t know what to make of Creativity’s new make-believe game. Creativity’s always liked pretending to be grown-ups. He plays house with Morality lots of times. But there’s a big difference between pretending and shapeshifting–at least in Anxiety’s book.

Shapeshifting scares him. If good guys like princes can do it, so can bad guys. And that’s bad! How is he supposed to keep Thomas safe if he doesn’t know who the bad guys are?

He also doesn’t understand the rules of this new game. The prince is being super nice to him. Making a blanket fort, giving him Zola, telling him stories about King Arthur–all of it. Is Creativity pretending to be the Dad? No, that’s always Morality’s role. Maybe he’s trying to be like one of Thomas’ older brothers. Like when they have to watch over him when Mom and Dad are away.

Despite his confusion, Anxiety doesn’t want to question him. Creativity sometimes forgets to explain things. He thinks everyone already knows the rules and if they don’t, he gets upset. The last thing Anxiety wants is for Creativity to be upset with him! 

So Anxiety stays quiet. He listens to Creativity’s stories, trying hard to keep his eyes open. He doesn’t want to fall asleep. He wants to stay awake and for this game to last forever.

“Sir Gawain rides on his noble steed, on his way to face the nasty green knight. He fights all sorts of monsters on his way there like–” Creativity’s mouth twists, his thinking face hard at work, “–like Anxiety!” 

The prince points a finger into his stomach. Anxiety whose eyes blink rapidly as his heart clashes loudly like thunder in his ribcage.

“Me?” He squeaks, so lost and confused, “but–but I’m not a monster!”

Anxiety isn’t a monster, he isn’t. He may not be as brave or as smart as the others, but he’s a good guy. He protects Thomas, telling him to watch out for shadow demons in his closet and to not touch hot ovens. That’s good…right?

“Yes you are!” Creativity cries, spreading his hands out wide, “You’re a wicked, atrocious monster and nobody likes you!”

Anxiety shrinks backwards, hitting the edge of the blanket fort. Run, he needs to run away. But he finds himself entangled in the blankets like a fly trapped in a spiderweb. It destroys the blanket fort in the process. He’s ruined it. Just like all the other times he’s ruined Creativity’s make-believe games.

“I’m sorry–please, I’ll be good!” Anxiety begs as the prince looms high above him, sword in hand.

“It’s okay, Anxiety,” Creativity says with a thin, crooked smile, “I’ll take care of Thomas for you.”

The sword plunges downwards and Virgil screams. He throws his arms in front of him uselessly to protect himself. They made contact with something solid. Not the sharp sting of a steel sword. Something warm, something firm yet gentle.

“Hey. Shhh, it’s okay.” Princey’s voice speaks, causing Anxiety to thrash against his grip more.

“Get away! Don’t _huRT ME!_ ” Anxiety screeches, flinching from the sound of his own voice. No, no, no. This is bad. How can he prove to Creativity he isn’t a monster when his voice echoes like that? It’s weird and wrong and not normal! 

Anxiety trembles, tugging at tufts of his hair. He can’t breath right, it comes out funny in strained huffs of air. Not enough. Anxiety is going to die–which is bad, because who’s gonna take care of Thomas? It can’t be Princey, because Princey doesn’t look before he leaps. Morality’s too nice and Logic is sometimes too curious for his own good. Even if they don’t like him much, he has to be there for them. He just has to!

“The itsy bitsy spider comes up the waterspout,” A voice sings, startling Anxiety out of his panicked reverie, “Down came the rain and washed the spider out.”

Creativity is…singing. He’s the one singing. But why? Why isn’t he attacking Anxiety? He sneaks a glance upwards, shocked to see Creativity sitting a few feet away. Not scared. The only trembles of fear is coming from Anxiety himself. The blanket-fort surrounds them, undestroyed. The soft glow of the fairy-lights twinkle up above. 

“Out comes the sun and dries up all the rain,” Creativity continues to sing, his eyes briefly meeting Anxiety. There isn’t any anger or disgust dancing in them. There’s an emotion Anxiety can’t identify. That should scare him, but it doesn’t. Not when it reminds him of freshly-baked cookies, the kind that melts in your mouth. Because this Princey is good. The Princey from moments before isn’t real–just a horrid, horrid nightmare.

Despite all their arguing, Princey would never point a sword at him. Never.

Hesitatingly, he joins in on the next line. A smile grows on Princey’s face at that. A real, genuine one. “And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.”

There’s a beat of silence. And then, before Anxiety is aware of what he’s doing, he flings himself into Creativity’s arms. He lets out a surprised grunt, but he still cocoons Anxiety close to his chest. Anxiety tries really hard not to cry as he sniffles and gasps for breath. 

“Shhh it’s okay to cry, let it out little fright-ling.” Princey tells him, stroking his hair. 

“I can’t!” Anxiety shrieks, shaking his head vigorously. He’s already cried once earlier. He can’t cry again, that’ll just make him a crybaby.

“Whyever not?”

“B-because!” 

“You know even the bravest of heroes have a good cry now and then.”  
“They do?” Anxiety asks, “E-ev-even you?”

“Of course,” Creativity says, “great heaving buckets of tears, even.”

Anxiety tries imagining Creativity crying like that. A waterfall of tears streaming down his face like a cartoon. It makes him laugh a little. He also cries. So much so it feels like he’s used up all the tears inside his little body. Creativity rocks him gently, reminding Anxiety of the way Thomas’ mother would comfort him after a nightmare.

“Good,” Creativity tells him, rubbing circles into his back, “you’re doing a good job, Anx.”

It doesn’t feel like he’s doing a good job. The globs of tears are all wet and sticky on his face. He can’t stop hiccuping either. Princey’s words do, however, make him feel better.

“You’re so much nicer when you’re bigger.” Anxiety whispers, clutching onto Creativity’s sash with a fierce grip. He doesn’t mean for those words to come out; it just happens.

Creativity doesn’t say anything other than to hug him tighter in response


End file.
